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Here at CCK, we like to keep an eye on what’s happening on the internet. This includes any blogs that comment on the things we are interested in.

Jimmyjane.com is a great site that specialises in helping people understand and enjoy sex more through toys, candles, massage oils and tutorials.

We spotted an interesting article on their blog that talks about the humble yet very sexy fruit known as the cherry.

Sound interesting? Then read on!

Let them eat pie
by Jimmyjane

Love Potion No. 9 may be not available at the grocery store, but a mouth-watering dessert can easily stand in place of an arousing elixir. Thankfully, your local farmer’s market is ripe with seasonal aphrodisiacs, perfect for baking up a delectable treat that will excite more than just taste buds.

Ruby red, taut and juicy, the early summer harvest is all about cherries, a fruit with a rich history of feminine (and simply sexual) allusion. From 80’s rock to centuries of slang, cherries have long conjured images of anatomy and the possibilities of the forbidden.

As it turns out, there may be science behind the cherry’s ribald reputation. The fruit provides potassium, a requirement for sexual hormone production, as well as an abundance of antioxidants, helping keep skin temptingly beautiful and youthful. Their rich red hue is even said to stimulate pheromone production. (A theory perhaps best tested by rubbing the fruit over lips, nipples and naughtybits.)

Think sexy while doing your shopping, and pick up a pint of the irreverent gems – with a little imagination, you’ll find a multitude of ways to enjoy them. Snack on them while reading a dirty novel or while watching porn, rolling the smooth fruit around on your tongue. Stash a handful in the freezer, then use them as a delicious alternative to ice during temperature play.

Bite into the cherry and drip the red juices over desirable areas, leaving your partner to lick the sugary trail. Anything you eat with your fingers can become a tease; take turns feeding each other and dangling the fruit above an open mouth before dropping it in. Dip cherries in chocolate for an aphrodisiac double-dose.

If you really want to impress your lover, tie on the ol’ apron (preferably over little else) and whip up a warm, sticky cherry pie. Ask your partner for help massaging the crust, taste-testing the filling or whipping the cream – so to speak. Amuse yourselves while you wait for the pie to emerge from the oven, and when the timer dings, enjoy your hot reward right there in the kitchen.

Here at CCK we want to share something special with our customers. We will be taking extracts from our favourite books, and posting them here on the blog. That way you can get a taste of the kind of stuff we offer, and can decide for yourself whether you like it or not. Hopefully you’ll like them so much, you’ll want to buy the book for yourself!

Our first extract comes from the Best Women’s Erotica 2008. The story is written by Jacqueline Applebee, a name well known to us as she was a regular at CCK when it was still open. She would come in on a regular basis to read out her stories for fellow customers to enjoy and give feedback on.

And so without further ado, read on!

PENALTY FARE
Jacqueline Applebee

It was supposed to be my punishment. I’m sure the train guard thought it was only right and just that I should introduce my lips to his hard-on, as penalty for traveling on the railway without a valid ticket. He had given me a simple choice; I was either to pay a week’s wages as a fine, or I was to give him a blowjob the next time we met.

I guessed he didn’t know how little I earn.

That’s why I found myself on the 8:30 service from London Paddington to Bristol Temple Meads the next Friday morning. I waited quietly in my seat by the aisle as the train pulled out of the station in a series of long slow jerks. At first I wanted to find him, to try to keep control of the situation, but I couldn’t move; I was far too nervous. As the onboard speakers crackled to life, I wondered if it was his smooth voice that I heard, welcoming everyone to the train, telling us all to observe the safety notices and that no smoking was allowed.

Ten agonizingly long minutes passed before I saw him at the other end of the narrow swaying carriage, checking tickets, collecting money and pointing the way to the buffet car in an efficient manner. Dressed as he was in his dark uniform, the crisp pressed trousers, jacket and tie made him look severe, almost intimidating. He seemed taller, more solid than before and for a split second, I was hesitant that I could really do this. Then I started thinking that he wouldn’t even remember our sordid agreement; he probably wouldn’t remember me.

And as if he had heard my thoughts, he looked ahead and he saw me; the only black woman on the train by my estimate. I stood out from the pinstripe suits around me and amongst all the stiff uniforms of gray and white, I was like a big black target, dressed in my colorful West African outfit, chunky silver jewelry and a headwrap topping it all off. If I couldn’t move before, I was frozen to the spot now.

Once our eyes met, he zeroed in on me, marching quickly through the carriage and ignoring the other passengers who held out their tickets for him to check. He slung his portable ticket machine over his shoulder as he reached my seat and he yanked me out of my chair, without even breaking his stride.

His big firm hand clamped down as a solid weight upon my shoulder and I half stumbled ahead of him. Other passengers looked at me with sympathy; they were probably thinking that I was going to be thrown bodily off the train for breaking the rules and I kept my eyes averted, not wanting to look at anyone we passed. I was directed in hurried silence to the front of the train, to the first class carriage where no one sat.

As we reached the private toilets there, I saw a sign on the door that almost made me smile. OUT OF ORDER was taped up in big red letters. I suppose that what we were about to do could be considered out of order, but I was just too horny to dwell on it.

You see, this was my choice, my dream; to be so naughty that I simply had to be punished. It had taken three trips to get into trouble and believe me when I say I had tried. But no one checked the tickets on the first journey to Oxford, the train guard on the second trip to Bath Spa took pity on me and said he’d overlook it. It was only on the third journey that I got lucky at last; this guard actually took me aside, leaned over me and told me that there was more than one way to pay for my crime. He had stared at my chest the whole time, with twinkling blue eyes lapping up the sight of me as if I were completely edible, and then he said he’d always wanted to try out a black girl.

I almost came on the spot.

Don’t get me wrong; I think of myself as being reasonably smart. I know I’m not supposed to like things like this, but I do. I like them an awful lot. And just the thought of what was about to happen made me feel so damn hot! Because even though I can look as exotic as you like, I’ve never ever felt it.

Really, not ever.

I was born and brought up in East London, talk with a Cockney accent when I get excited and the closest I’ve got to the tropics is buying a tin of pineapple chunks in my local supermarket. So when my need to be bad gets tangled up with my need to feel like a sultry dusky maiden…well it’s not too hard to work out why I jumped at his yummy proposal. He might have some island beauty stereotype floating around his head and tugging at his groin, but I have my stereotypes too and they make me hunger for firm pink skin, blue veins snaking around hard muscles and hair that is soft and straight.

Big strong men who look like Viking warriors make me gaga with desire. Getting them to notice me is something that I’ve worked long and hard at.

Back on the train, I inhaled deeply as the guard reached around me. I could feel his hot breath against the back of my neck, making me shiver with anticipation. His scent caught my nose; his cologne was crisp, masculine and underlined his attributes.

He used a little funny shaped key to open the door to the restroom and then ushered me inside with a firm push. I glanced around nervously; the room was not large and neither of us was small. I looked back at him with a hint of uncertainty; he was a big handsome man and my layers of bright African cloth hid my voluptuous curves. I didn’t know if we were going to fit, but he smiled at me-a lazy crooked grin that let me know that he’d done this before—-and then he promptly squeezed in behind me.

As the door shut, I caught a glimpse of the bright green countryside as it blurred past the window outside; I saw the freedom of open spaces that I didn’t want. I’d much rather be locked up thank you very much.

We finally made it in, although we had to dance in a tight awkward shuffle to get the door fully closed. For a moment, we both stood there in the confined space, looking at each other. Then his hands moved to his thick belt and he quickly undid the silver buckle. I took it as a cue to sink to my knees and lifted the hem of my bright yellow dress as I stooped down.

The stale damp smell of the toilet was worse down at this level but I tried not to notice. I heard the slow metallic slide of his zipper and I forgot everything else as the sound hypnotized me. His dark uniform trousers dropped to the floor, pooling around thick strong-looking calves, with a mass of fine blond hairs decorating his ivory skin. He was more than ready for me and as I caught my first sight of his cock, it seemed as if there was even less space in the room than before. His large thick crimson dick radiated heat that I could already feel against my lips. It bobbed with the trundle of the train, standing in front of my face like it was a third person in the room.

I pressed my warm face to his burning cock, rubbed my cheeks, my lips over the smooth surface until I felt a hand on my head, stilling me. I heard his low voice; the first thing he’d said to me.

“Train’s due at Reading station in five minutes.”

I got the hint-make it quick, no fancy stuff. I could do that.

I looked back up at his cock and opened wide. I conjured up the taste of salt and placed my lips against a bead of his juice leaking from the tip. He shivered against me and I smiled as I descended on him further. I sucked steadily and slowly on his length and he gasped, almost stepping away from the intensity.

The weight of his hefty cock made my tongue bend beneath it. He felt immense inside me but I wanted it all. I licked the head with short urgent laps and the train began to shudder with me’, keeping pace with my tongue. I closed my eyes, breathed out and swallowed him deeper in slow wet gulps just as we entered a tunnel. The only reason I knew this, was be- cause my ears popped and when I swallowed again from instinct to relieve the pressure, he made a strangled noise. I felt his strong wide hands fisting the fabric of my headscarf and he pulled me forward even more.

My gag reflex is something that I have learned to live with; I’ve practiced on bananas and jumbo hotdogs, pushing them against the back of my throat, half swallowing them and then pulling out before I choked. So when I relaxed my jaw muscles and drew every last inch of him into me, I was as prepared as I could be. I sensed his surprise at this and he surged in- side, growing impossibly harder against the roof of my mouth, stretching me to the limit.

I cupped his heavy hot balls and he went up on tiptoes, straining in the swaying room. Both of his hands were now buried in the cloth that covered my head and they were no longer guiding me, but rather he was using me to steady him- self. I was half glad that he lost control so quickly, half proud of my abilities.

My slow in-and-out motions made him grunt like a bull, my nibbles made him pant like a horse and quick twists of my swollen lips made him gurgle low in his throat. He was making so many appreciative noises and seemed to be enjoying the experience so much that it was only when we felt the pull of the brakes that he suddenly stiffened against me, swore out loud and practically popped himself out of my hungry mouth.

I was amazed at the speed with which he moved, he was tucked in and dressed almost before I could pull off the blueberry condom that I had sneaked on with my first kiss to his cock.

He disappeared out the door and within moments I could – hear his breathless voice announcing the next station, warning passengers to please mind the gap between the train and the platform and reminding them that we were due in Bristol at ten o’clock.

Even though the train was stationary, I still felt the strange swoon wash over me; the feeling that I was still moving, still roaring through the countryside on this pleasure train. I felt my knees start to ache, but I wasn’t about to move from my position. I wrapped the purple condom in a tissue and fished just under the edge of my headwrap for a strawberry flavored one instead. That just left the mint and vanilla ones scratching at my scalp, reminding me of the possibilities.

The jerk of the train as it got going once more sent a sudden welcoming jolt to my clit. The strong series of motions as the locomotive gathered speed threatened to pull my orgasm from me, from my overexcited body and right down to the thundering wheels below.

Within seconds he came back into the room, looking at me with surprise, as if he’d thought I wasn’t going to be here when he returned, but I wasn’t done with him yet.

“Drop ’em,” I said cheekily and he laughed and lowered his trousers once more.

This time I was fully relaxed and eager to have him in my mouth again. My previous actions had made me even more of a slut than before and I was very pleased at my progress. I was determined to suck this man dry, to have my fun.

He seemed more desperately horny than earlier and after a few enthusiastic kisses, his cock grew back to its rock-hard status, gliding into my mouth smoothly and deeply.

The guard became more vocal as he reached his peak, grunting out garbled words and curses as he thrust into me, using my mouth for his sweet sordid pleasure. I was torn between reaching up to pull him down by his dangling tie and staying where I was, to get off on the rumbling between my legs.

I thought briefly about how my brain got addled when I was horny but it was worth it, as being bad felt so much better than I could have ever imagined. Every part of me tingled and vibrated with the train and I gripped the base of his cock and felt him almost topple over.

My decision was made and I lowered myself down further until my pussy was directly atop the shaking floor. I came quickly with a muffled shout around the cock in my mouth, the orgasm rattling my body with a pounding, roaring sensation that thundered through my bones, like the speeding train I rode in.

The guard’s ticket machine was still strapped to his back and it made a noise as loud as both of our cries as he jerked against the door, his jagged movements accidentally pressing the buttons on the device while he rocked into me. I sucked hard, drawing out his come in full strong motions and he groaned long and loud, flicking his hips in sharp shudders. I felt the condom swell within my mouth, tasted strawberry milkshake and withdrew after a sweet blissful moment.

I banged the back of my head against the washbasin as I clambered up stiffly; my knees were killing me and I was damp in places even I was surprised at. He sighed out loud and looked completely spent, but was quick enough to see me put the second condom in some tissue. He reached down and gripped the head of his cock, swiped a drop of come that had leaked out and held it up to me as if to dare me to lick it from his thick fingers, but I had other plans. I wanted a mark from this event, apart from the bruise to the back of my head. I wanted a reminder that it hadn’t all been my sex-crazed imagination, so I offered my hands to him and he knew what to do; he smeared a white dribble of his come across my wrists, dabbed a drop behind each ear and stroked the last of it into the cleavage of my breasts.

We both smiled in a conspiratorial way as he adorned me; we both knew that I would wear him like perfume all day, would carry a part of him back home to the East End of London.

“That was cracking,” he exclaimed in a lazy satisfied voice.

“God I could get into so much trouble for this, could get myself fired…” he paused and then winked at me, smiling broadly. “But you’re worth it sweetheart!”

He turned to the door and was about to leave when suddenly a long beep rang out. A concertina strand of tickets ejected themselves from his machine; four singles going all the way to the end of the line.

Maybe we’ll do that next time.

So what do you think? Did it light a fire within your loins? Have you ever fantasied about sex on a train? (or done it in real life?) We want to know! We want your feedback!

While you’re at it, if you liked what you read feel free to pick up a copy of Best Women’s Erotica 2008 on our webshop:

Photographing the real gay bear in its natural environment, Barry “The Bear” Gollop is a man who knows his subject! New York born, Barry traveled across Europe and gained a love of photography, which he has turned to his advantage in putting a spotlight on the big and burly gay men known as “The Bear”.

Filled to the brim with hairy well built and hunky men in exotic locations, Barry brings a gritty and striking feel to his work that gives a flavour of what makes Bears so appealing!

Check out his work in “The Bear: Essentials”, available to buy from our webshop. Take a walk on the wild side!

American artist Bill Schmeling aka The Hun is a resident of Portland, Oregon, and is probably one of the most noteworthy homo-erotic fetish artists in the world. His intense erotic artwork defines the homosexual fantasies of hyper-muscular men with large manhoods and even larger appetites!

His work covers everything you would expect to see from the gay scene, from men in tight uniforms, interracial relations, sadomasochism, gang-bangs and copious amounts of male ejaculation!

In honour of the 2011 Royal Ascot event on Tuesday, our next artist spotlight is on one of CCK favorite artists, Ray Leaning.

Linconshire-born Ray Leaning has been drawing since he was a boy, inspired by books on Pop art, Victorian advertising art and figure drawing. Over time he attended the Grimsby School of Art, Exeter College of Art and Design and Brighton College of Art, developing his exceptional drawing and painting skills in the female form.

Having had exhibitions in Europe and America, it’s this background that has solidified his entry into the erotic fine art scene as a world renowned artist and graphic designer.

In recognition of the annual Royal Ascot horse racing event on Tuesday 14th June, CCK is promoting Ray’s exclusive “Racing Files” print collection. This collection contains a number of beautiful and sexy high quality black and white prints, which are “Open Editions”. This means that each print is in constant circulation and available for order.

CCK is proud to be one of the the only online shops that sells Ray Leaning’s artwork on our webshop. What better gift for Father’s Day could there be than Ray’s Ascot, Cheltenham or Aintree?

In order to receive one in time for Father’s Day on Sunday 19th June, you have until midday on Tuesday 14th June at the latest to place an order with us.

Doing so will ensure guaranteed delivery for Saturday 18th June, so what are you waiting for? Head over to the CCK Webshop and place an order today!

Fans of Ray’s work might also want to check out “Muse: The Art of Ray Leaning“, also available from our shop. The paperback version is available in limited stock, and is another great idea for a Father’s Day present!

Hubert is a French artist/illustrator who is one of France’s premier erotic pip-up artists. With a career spanning over two decades Hubert has been working commercially in a number of different media, such as covers for science fiction book covers and board games.

Born in 1963, he started work as an illustrator while attending the Ecole Duperré and Ecole Estienne art schools. Hubert specialises in science fiction and fantasy artwork containing hot pin-up women, and his work shows inspiration from classical french pinup, American and Japanese art.

As fans of Hubert’s work, we at CCK have a number of his books available for you to buy on our webshop, including Facettes, French Pin-Ups and Super Heroines. You can also grab a collection of UK exclusive greetings cards designed by Hubert under the “Chéries” tag.

It won’t be long now…the season of love, racquets and balls known as Wimbledon will rally round the the country. As an alternative service, we thought we would put up a seasonal pic. Here it is! And now…CCK staffer Royston has put together the following few words on the subject for this blog:

Bristol born, Julian Murphy is unique in his style of artwork in that he specialises in turning inanimate objects into very sexually suggestive pieces. Julian’s work, dubbed “Tantric Pop Art” cleverly bridges the mental gap between normal, everyday utensils, tools and devices, and plays with the idea of the viewer seeing them in a more kinky perspective. He has gained many awards and is critically acclaimed around the world for his work, having had many exhibitions in and has featured in magazines like GQ, Elle and Design Week.

You can find his work on our CCK webshop. We have “The Singular Art of Julian Murphy” and “Objects of desire”. The sporting pair pictured above are part of the postcard gallery of objects: very reasonably priced, very available…go on, why don’t you? Follow the link to the Open season…

Drew is the man responsible for our graphics, and we persuaded him to take a break from designing our new website (did I not tell you we’re going to have a new website? – ed.) and playing in his bands to wax lyrical about Monmouth Coffee. We used to serve Monmouth in our Endell Street café, and we are the only online sellers of Monmouth. Here’s Drew to tell you more.

Being an ex-barista I have had the pleasure of working with many different roasts of beans from all over the world. I often find that the most hyped roast can often leave me feeling a little cold with a savour that really doesn’t suit my taste buds. However, this is not the case with the fine selection at Monmouth Coffee. It tastes wonderful. Whether you enjoy a subtle fruity taste or prefer a darker more passionate flavour, Monmouth coffee will provide the right roast for you.

I am a total coffee snob and I urge you to dump your Starbucks addiction for a far superior coffee experience today!

Patrick Califia is one of my all-time favourite writers. He is an incredible wordsmith, able to write both fiction and fact in a way that both draws the reader in and informs you. His erotica is some of the hottest writing you will come across. Boy In The Middle is another of his compelling, sexy short story collections of polymorphous perversity and hardcore, sexually charged scenes. Califia has a way of taking the reader right into the story. He has the ability to describe place, character and atmosphere so well, you can’t but help feel a part of it.

cover for "Boy In The Middle" by Patrick Califia

Boy In The Middle has such a collection of differing characters and set-ups that I defy anyone not to get some pleasure from it. Whatever your kink, fetish , gender or sexuality, Califia caters for you in this book. His writing will surprise you, in being able to turn you on to a story, scene or character you may otherwise not have thought you’d be interested in; such is the power of his imagination. I recommend anyone who enjoys erotic fiction to read this book. Allow yourself some time to indulge and immerse yourself in it, because it will be hard to put down. Oh, and if you’re reading Boy In The Middle in public, be aware that its effect may leave you needing to find somewhere, for a ‘quiet, private moment’!

I have to admit to a penchant for vintage erotica – from true classics like John Cleland’s Fanny Hill, through to more obscure titles, such as The Scarlet Library’s reprint of A Night in a Moorish Harem, first published in 1890.

A Night in a Moorish Harem is very much a product of it’s time; the setting is colonial, imperial and sexist. But it doesn’t pretend to be anything other than a rollicking tale of sex and sex and more sex. The Scarlet Library’s edition is illustrated by Harry Douglas, just enough to prompt the imagination – his colourful sketches are as erotic as the words on the page.

The tale takes the form of several stories within a greater story, told to a marooned English sailor by the inhabitants of a coastal harem; the women take turns telling their saucy tales as well as taking pleasure from the sailor himself – the stories winding into the narrative smoothly. Each could be read as a stand alone vignette; I can dip into the book as well as read from cover to cover.

Illustratin by Harry Douglas

Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, better known as Fanny Hill, is a longer novella – it tells the story of Fanny, a country girl who travels to London for work, instead falling into the trap laid by a brothel-keeper, turning her into the titular woman of pleasure. Fanny tells her own story, beautifully written with glorious attention to Fanny’s own pleasure;

“I gazed at it, I devoured it, at length and breath with my eyes directed intently to it, til his getting upon me, and placing himself between my thighs, took from me the enjoyment of its sight, to give me a far more grateful one in its touch, in that part where the touch is so exquisitly affecting… I felt with too great a rapture of pleasure the first insertion of it, to heed much the pain that followed; I thought nothing too dear to pay for this richest treat of the senses; so that split up, torn, bleeding, mangled, I was still superiorly pleased and hugged the author of this delicious ruin… I lived but in what I felt only.”

Fanny Hill has been published many times over, in many forms; The Scarlet Library have reprinted it in the two volumes it was originally published as, with glorious illustrations by Erich von Götha. The scarlet covers make for a sensuous, vintage feel, keeping the erotica under wrappers that only hint at the delight within.

I love these books; they were among the first erotica I ever read, and have since become firm favourites (to the point where I own multiple copies of Fanny Hill), and the centre of my still-growing collection. Even if vintage erotica isn’t your kink, they are still worth enjoying – and you never know, they might just be the start of a new adventure.

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